


paint

by lionkid (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Identity Issues, M/M, Nail Polish, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lionkid
Summary: What's wrong with a little bit of paint?





	

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to paint by dodie clark while writing this

Dan sighed. “Alright, uh, okay,” he waved his arms around. “It’s not inherently a gender defiant thing to do, and like, if you painted your nails right now, it could mean nothing at all. Unless you wanted it to, and if you want that it would be super alright and I’d be happy to hear you out.”

“Alright,” Phil said.

“But while it’s not automatically something that means anything regarding someone’s gender, I would feel better and more at tune with my identity if I painted my nails.”

Phil nodded. “Are you done now?” He quipped.

He looked mildly offended by Phil’s question. “I’m sorry, do you… do you not care?”

“No, Dan,” he said. “I do care, but you forget I work with teenagers and I have to learn this whole kind of thing to know them better. Now I’m not saying only kids have these identities,” Phil noted before Dan could say anything, “I’m saying they’re mostly new terms, but that’s beside the point. What I am trying to say is that you could wake up tomorrow and tell me, ‘Phil, I think I’m a girl’, and I’d shrug and call you pretty and a she and whatever you wanted. I genuinely don’t care because I love you for you, and seriously, you don’t need to give me a speech because I would paint your nails with or without one.”

After his ramble, he uncapped the tiny bottle of polish, a light blue they’d been gifted back at Playlist Live. Most people wouldn’t peg Phil for someone who was good at handiwork and nail painting in general, but he told Dan one of his ex-girlfriends had him help her out all the time, and he’d learned to do a fairly great job.

With a couple of swift strokes, he painted Dan’s left pinky. The cyan was a nice contrast to his slight tan and he smiled, already thinking of the clothes he could wear to match it. Phil laughed at how excited Dan looked; not in a mocking way, but because it reminded him of the young boy he started talking to because of Muse, a kid who essentially idolised him and was always eager to try new things.

His ring finger was up next. While painting it, Phil couldn’t help but imagine how it would look with a silver band around it and grinned. He told Dan so.

“Oh wow,” Dan breathed. “So you already have the material and design planned, huh?” He joked.

“Maybe I already have the ring and I’m just waiting for the right time,” Phil teased. He moved on to the middle fingernail. This one he had more trouble with, because Dan kept on flipping the bird at him, and he had to channel all his concentration into looking stoic and serious. (He failed and burst out into giggles.)

They fell into silence while Phil finished off the left hand. The only sound came from the TV, a song from “Once More, With Feeling” Dan had been forced to listen to a billion times. “I feel a bit old,” he spoke.

“For what?” Phil asked.

“I don’t know. The whole identity search thing. It’s like I’m going through my teenage bi curious period all over again, except I’m twenty five and supposed to have my shit together by now.”

Phil rolled his eyes and kept on carefully cleaning up the corners of Dan’s nails. “You know, baby, I expected that from anyone but you,” he said. “You’re smarter than that, come on. Nobody knows what they’re doing in life. Sometimes it takes us a little longer to realise stuff. Doesn’t make it any less true,” he added. A little polish got in his own hand and he didn’t hesitate to wipe it on the bed sheets.

Dan didn’t answer, but he gave Phil the look he knew meant thankfulness. They were once again silent until he screamed, making Phil flinch. (The sharp end of the orange stick dug into his skin, and he was too sensitive to pain to stay silent.)

He whined when Phil complained. “Listen, I am soft. I get bruises from bumping into our bed posts. I hate it, but it’s a part of me.”

Phil ignored him. It was no use arguing. “I’m done, look!” He sing-sang. Dan couldn’t help the Cheshire grin that spread across his face when he lifted his hands up and saw the pastel blue on his nails. It looked  _ pretty  _ and he felt elated, in a state he could only describe as euphoria.

“I’d so jump you but I don’t wanna ruin these babies,” he said. “Please,  _ please  _ do that again sometime. Pink next time. Okay, this is amazing, I love you,” Dan rambled. He always got overly excited, and Phil loved it.

“Okay, I’ll get you some pink next time.” He sighed. His hands were hurting from holding Dan’s up for a good twenty minutes and he immediately fell back onto the bed.

“Wait, are you tired? Annoyed? Oh my god, I am so sorry. You don’t have to do it next time, I promise I’ll learn and do it myself,” he apologised. He looked genuinely concerned.

Phil chuckled. “No, I very much enjoyed that,” he told him. “Might even paint mine pink to match with you.”


End file.
